I won't tell you about what happened when I was a kid, but you should know that it was pretty bad. And I don't think you really want to know about it, honestly. Anyway, I got away from that place, okay? That's the important part. I ran away and I never really stopped. That was about 6 months ago, and I'm still okay, I promise.
People always look so sad when I tell them that I don't have a home. They get these little lines above their brows and sigh and nod. I can imagine them telling a friend about it later, calling me "a poor child, or a victim to circumstance" Or something like that. It's not bad though, this life I live, I mean, It's… It's not easy but it's a helluva lot better than before.
It's true that I don't have much to get by with. And it's true that food can sometimes be scarce, but I get by. I steal if I have to. I play the sympathy card if I have to. That's what I was up to most days anyway.
This one store, Lottie's, makes it easy on me. They leave the canned foods right at the door and have no security. So I opened the old thing, hardly on its hinges, and snagged a few cans. Lottie's was always clustered too, with people and great mounds of produce and toilet paper, bins and boxes and medicine, all haplessly thrown about. It reminded me of a squirrel's nest, especially with the wood-paneled walls and all. The best way to steal something is to act like you already bought it. So I didn't try to stuff them under my shirt or smuggle them out in a bag, I just smiled pleasantly and waltzed out. Noone stopped me, as is usual.
I look innocent. Smiling always makes you look innocent though. So with three new cans of something or another, I made my way down to the library. They don't let you eat there, of course, but that's where I stashed my food. There was this little vent at the side of the building that stayed cool, so for the past week that's where I put my things.
After I stashed what turned out to be corn, sweet potatoes and soup, I slumped against the shade of the building. It was a nice fall day, but the wind had started to get a little nip to it. I pulled my hat down farther and crossed my arms. I needed new clothes, too. Those are harder to come by but I had seen a few garage sales around and maybe I could beg my way into some new shoes or a coat. My current sneakers had holes in them now and wouldn't last much longer. And my 'coat' was just a jacket someone had left on a bench outside of Lottie's. It was at least three sizes too big, and smelled like boy, but it kept me warm so I didn't mid.
I thought about going inside to "read" or more accurately nap, on the free-to-use couches in the library, but I was comfortable enough. So I closed my eyes, pulled down my hat, and tried to sleep. It was only a few minutes of sitting there, when I heard a loud grunt. I guess you could call it that. It was the sound of someone getting beat to shit. I didn't really care, mind you. I had corn to guard after all, but I stood up anyway to look around. At the back of the library, there seemed to be a mosh pit forming. Probably the local gangs against each other. No thank you. I slumped back down.
I wasn't about to step into a fist fight with 10 or more guys. I'd do no help and probably end up unconscious, dead, or in the hospital. And hospitals were something I had to avoid. They were swarming with questions. They were swarming with those vile beings intent on sending me "home" So I stayed planted in the soft earth.
But the boy's groans got louder. The back of the library wasn't visible to anyone else, either, so they could go for as long as they wanted. No one would stop them. I would call the police but of course I didn't have a phone, and honestly probably wasn't doing the boy's a favor. The police around here were mean and brutal. So I did what any rational person would do, picked up a small rock and chucked it at one of boys.
He was thunked with it in the arm, and turned around. By then I had crouched in the shrub though, so he turned back around. I think they were kicking him, the boy I mean, He seemed to be on the ground and he wasn't making much sound anymore. I got worried.
I stepped out of the bush and cautiously walked toward them. There were about five, not 10, but they looked menacing. They were all.. dirty, sinister looking boys. About 17 in age, but old enough to have some scruff lining their jaw. I shuddered. Then, gentley as I could, tapped the tall one on the shoulder.
He flipped around so fast, hand raised, ready to beat anyone close to him to a pulp. I smiled. "Uh, Um, Hi there." I said. He snarled, "What do you want whore?" God, I love that. When all girls turn into whores in the presence of an asshole. It's beautiful. I kept my compsure though,
"I just, um, well I was wondering why you were in this here circle?" I gestured, to the tight cluster of shitheads.
"Mind your own damn business"
"Please, can you just leave him alone? It doesn't prove much when it's five against one. If you wanna beat the shit out of him, and he might deserve it, shouldn't you do it by yourself? It's more impressive."
The little shit scoffed at me and, from the looks of it, kicked the boy again, spat on his face, and then walked away. His troop of gorillas followed, trying to be thuggish, looking like children. When They were gone, I rushed to the clump of flesh on the ground.
He was bloody, bruised and swollen on almost every part of his body. Lifting up his shirt, I saw deep purple blotches up and down his ribcage. Broken, probably. He wasn't dead though, In fact, his eyes were open and staring me down. Short, sharp breaths came out of his split lip, and a guttural moan followed. "I'm Violet. Calm down, okay? You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine." I took off my old jacket and bunched it up under his head. "Okay, see, we're good. Aren't we? Yeah." My hands were in a frenzy of trying to assess what was broken and what was just bruised. When he tried to move, I shoved him back down and took his hand. I saw nurses and doctors do that a lot, so I figured there must be a reason. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?" He shook his head, "Okay, police?" He shook his head harder, and his eyes got noticeably darker. "No police. Got it."
He tried to get up again, and this time I let him, at least sit up. "What's ya name?" I asked, still holding his bloody hand. He grunted and swayed a little. "Soda."
"Sorry, what?"
"Name. Is. Soda" He swayed again, but I held him up.
"Right. Okay Soda, now where's your family? Do you have family?"
He said nothing for a minute, just closed his eyes and breathed deep, shuddering painful things. "Can. You. Get my phone?" He said, nodding to a little black flip phone that was lying in the grass about 4 feet over. I grabbed it and went through the contacts.
"Who should I call?"
"Pony."
I wondered if he was delusional. I wondered if he lost all his memory or he had brain damage or he had internal bleeding and this pony fellow was all fictional. But I looked through the contacts nevertheless, and sure enough, there he was, Ponyboy Curtis.
I called him and he didn't answer for a few rings, so I watched Soda as I waited. His eyes were closed and he looked like it was talking all the effort in the world not to fall over. I rubbed his shoulder. "It's alright"
Then I heard the alleged Ponyboy. "What?" He said, with a gruff, deep voice.
"Hi, do you know a guy named Soda?"
"Sodapop? What happened? Is he okay? Where is he?" It all came out in one breath.
"He. He's okay, but you need to come get him. He was um in a fight. Well not really. They were the only ones doing any fighting. He's at, um, the back of the library, the Brookfield Library, and he's not real good. And you should come quick, okay?"
"I'm on my way." And then he snapped the connection.
"Okay… Soda, well your friend is on the way, okay?" He nodded, and sunk his head into his hands. This guy was about my age, 17 or so, and with long-ish black hair. Truthfully, he would probably be attractive if I wasn't so afraid he was gonna die. "Is he your brother?" I asked, because, well they both had pretty unique names. He nodded again.
For a while, we just sat there and waited. I didn't try and get too close and he didn't make any sounds, so I had no reason to try and baby him. I noticed my jacket was still on the ground and I started to get cold, so I put it back on. The front now had little blood drops on it, you know, adding to the whole hygiene thing.
When Pony came, he was running, and he dove next to his brother as soon as he saw them. Didn't look at me for a few minutes, just whispered to Soda, scuffed his hair and then hugged him. I felt awkward being there, this wasn't about me of course, I knew that, but I couldn't help but feel out of place. I never had family like that. Never had friends like that, either. Soda looked like his brother: same hair, same sort of clothes. When he finally looked up at me, he just nodded. "What's your name kid?"
"Violet."
"Well thank you Violet. I think you probably saved him." He looked back down at Soda, who was still curled in on himself. "Now, Could you help me get him to the car?" I nodded and walked over.
We both hooked our arms around his shoulders and walked him slowly to the truck waiting at the front of the Library. He grunted a few times, but seemed okay. We laid him down in the back and Pony got in the front. I was about to walk away, too, but then Pony called after me. "Hey, come with us? We could use your help flower."
Logically, I should have said no. Any rational, life-loving person, would not have climbed into a sketchy truck that reeked of booze with two boys that obviously had some bad connections. But I guess I wasn't that rational after he called me a flower. Who does that? Anyway, I climbed on in with them, smiled at Ponyboy and closed the door.
